A simple exercise in karma today, and some illustrated versions of other lessons I have been studying over the past year. In fact, a bit of a compedium of proverbs rolled out over the day...
Drove into town in hellish summer holiday tourist traffic, having flashbacks about my Festival catering years and discovered that true to linky linky form my framer knows a restauranteur that Stu worked for long ago and we bumped into often in those far off Festival days in the Old Town.
She also sorted out my hand painted frames which are looking great and house some giclees of my paintings - never thought I'd be into prints a few years ago but they do look great.
Also found out all about slips - the little 'inner' frame that functions the same as a mount in on a print or watercolour; she's now fixing me up a frame with slip to see how is goes on my pictures. This all in the name of improved presentation - see blog from a week or so ago. Another point made in that list was outflow = inflow and that is one I will write large in biro on my hand every day (brown biro if I ever find one!). Getting out there and getting to know all the printers, publishers, artists and framers is the only way I am getting places at last. It is that great big truth that everyone tells you, often disdainfully, but when you think about it, its the way you work as well; "It's not what you know, its who you know." I would debate the first half of that as 'what you know' can be pretty damned important too, but I am pretty definate on the second half - I mean who wouldn't rather help a person they knew over an abstract presence in an email?
Main lesson of the day, and a harsh one, was never to underprice your gallery, even if (which it most certainly was) accidental. Luckily people do not largely expect 'creatives' to be entirely rational or organised, but it helps if we are numerate... Unfortunately numbers have always been my downfall which is why on one hand I am O.C.D. obsessive about my own finances but can overlook major anomalies like this. Luckily I picked the right gallery and what could have been a lesson in finding a new gallery was actually a lesson in feeling small and wishing I had listened to Mr Taylor, my maths teacher. In a stroke of subconscious genius he had a small role in my dream last night, hovering in the crowd at a wedding but clearly recognisable and presumably placed by my brain as a gentle reminder...
Rectifying the damage by correcting prices on the website led handily back to my framer, whose partner is in charge of my website changes... outflow = inflow. It's good to have people to fall back on when you have dug yourself into a hole. (Now there's a fine mixed metaphor for the day, although actually quite satisfying visually.)
Came home traumatised to find that I had, among this chaos, actually sold a painting, which is good if traumatic in its own way. The one leaving me is 'With Wings' which represents to me my own discovery of the path I am now treading - an exuberant flying lady (me, with Bella Chagall's hair) soars over the Tuscan village we stayed in last year while the small winged figure of my older self wanders below. All about finding the way forward to paint and be myself before I hit a middle age tinged with regret; in other words its quite a personal picture in many ways, but so many of them are - its really hard to let them go sometimes!
Ironic too, given the lesson about costing, that to me in some ways it is priceless... so easy must it be for an artist to sit in a studio surrounded by their own work, viewed and appreciated by themselves alone... nope, its better to get them out there into the world and make way for more creations. Somehow I think I would rather opt for Picasso's rather nice studios than Van Gogh's ear cutting; a degree of commercial nous had become essential in a creative market so flooded with creators.
So ends my week, and back to the studio to play with more angels; my forgiving gallery owner mentioned a 'gang of angels' which is just a great collective noun that needs to be pondered. Also co-incidentally let me know that Blake's first vision in London involved a tree full of angels - woh, spooky.
No comments:
Post a Comment